


You Go To My Head

by alexavnger



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Memories, Mild Sexual Content, Nightmares, canon complaint, mild pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-15
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-07-24 02:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7489353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexavnger/pseuds/alexavnger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr prompt: What happened before Bucky got frozen in Wakanda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Go To My Head

He sat on the floor, legs folded underneath him, in front of the window that made up the exterior facing wall. The setting sun lit the Wakandan skyline ablaze in brilliant shades of reds, yellows, and oranges, while casting long shadows across the room. It had been raining every day for the past month they had been there, so the sun was a much welcomed reprieve. The landscape was saturated in lush hues of green and glistened in the waning sunlight. Such a large amount of trees made the air feel so clean in his lungs. No smog or the lingering smell of waste that he had gotten so used to living with in such crowded cities.

The familiar dull throb started in his temple. The shoddily replicated super soldier serum running through his veins was finally getting the chance to repair the damage caused by repeated mind wipes. He wanted to remember. He needed to remember. Squeezing his eyes shut, he allowed the memories to flood out from the depths.

The cramped one room apartment, filled with mismatched furniture. Bright lights, his screaming echoing off tile walls. He can smell the fried bologna and boiled cabbage that they had for dinner practically every night. The stench of seared flesh and acrid gun smoke surrounding him. The sound of Steve’s ragged breathing, huddling for warmth during another harsh winter. The aged face of a man that twinges a small part of his now fried memory, ‘ _Barnes?’._ Stealing glances at Steve as he lounges on his bed in the sweltering summer heat, a slow trickle of sweat trails down his bare chest. Tears streaming down a woman’s face as he strangles her.

 It’s like trying to swim upstream in a partially frozen river. Every now and then he finds a crack in the ice to push through, the frigid water pricking at his skin as it slowly freezes his blood. He struggles forward in short bursts. His heart pounds faster and faster, trying desperately to cut through the current. But he’s doing it. He fights through it. With every inch of progress he makes, the water gets that little bit warmer. The first crack comes when a man who looks achingly familiar calls him a name he hasn’t heard in a very, very long time. _Bucky._ The same man, his mission, pleading with him. His metal arm raised to deliver the killing blow, frozen in place. _Cause I’m with ya ‘til the end of the line._

He tried to force the tension out of his body. Remember to breathe. In…out…in…out.

At least Bucky had a semblance of control over how he reacted when allowed the memories to wash over him. The nightmares were another snarling beast entirely. A stained and cracked leather padded chair awaited him. The sight of the restraints caused a deep part in his brain to panic. His body no longer knew the feeling, it simply moved toward the chair like a well oiled machine. The device clamped down around his skull. Violent convulsions torqued his body as searing pain sunk into his bones. The sensation of a thousand needles slowly being pressed into every inch of him. The pain stopped as suddenly as it started. He sat up, and waited. Then someone spoke. The man held a battered leather bound book, a star pressed onto the front. _No._ That same small part of his brain protested.

He always woke up shivering uncontrollably, teeth grinding, as his chest heaved through wracking sobs.

He thought that book had been lost or even destroyed in the aftermath of HYDRA and SHIELD files being made public. Instead, Zemo found it, and turned Bucky back into that machine.

He had to fix this. He had to protect everyone. He had to protect Steve.

There was a soft clicking noise as the door opened behind him.

“Oh. Hey, Buck.” Steve was back. From the scent of sweat, he had most likely been working out. The smell made something deep in the pit of his stomach coil and flood with familiar warmth. Steve didn’t sound at all surprised to find Bucky waiting in his room.

“Your room has a better view.” Bucky supplied, not moving from his position in front of the window.

“We’re surrounded by a jungle. It’s kind of the same view no matter which direction you look.” Bucky just shrugged in response. Heavy footfalls moved across the carpet. There was small creaking sound as Steve settled on the edge of the bed. They sat in silence for a minute or two.

“T’Challa said his lab has everything set up.” He knew Steve was frowning without having to look back. “I’m going under tomorrow.” Another minute or two passed by.

“Whatever you think is best.” His tone was flat, commanding. His Captain voice, Bucky had once called it. Bucky braced his arm on the floor and awkwardly pushed himself into a standing position.

“Well I wasn’t asking the good Captain, I want to hear from Steve Rogers.” He wished he could have crossed his arms. Steve’s face stayed stoic for a moment before slowly melting into a frustrated frown. He worked his bottom jaw, as if grinding his teeth. His nostrils flared out just slightly as his breathing deepened. Bucky could almost hear Steve’s brain filtering through all the things he wanted to say. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before the words finally poured out.

“I do want you to do whatever you think is best. I want you to make your own decisions no matter what my opinion is.” Steve paused, his jaw clenched, lips forming a thin line. He pointedly avoided making eye contact with Bucky. “But it’s like – it’s like I’m watching you fall off the train again, and I can’t decide if I should jump after you or not. Because I want to. Jump after you, I mean. Because I didn’t last time, and it haunts me, Bucky. It haunts me, god damn it. What if I had jumped and gone after you? I probably could have survived, and we could have found our way out of there.” Steve’s eyes glossed over as tears began to build up. Bucky raised a hand and took a step towards Steve to stop the speech, to calm him down. Steve didn’t notice. He was too busy staring at his own hands clasped tightly together. “Or maybe I would have gotten myself stuck in the same position as you. But I’ll never know because I didn’t try. And now I’m stuck in the same position. Should I jump after you or not?” He stops, slightly out of breath. His knuckles were white. “I can’t run the risk of losing you again, Buck. Everyone else from our life is gone. All I’ve got left is you.” Steve’s voice became hoarse. “Please don’t leave me again.”

Something clamped down on Bucky’s heart. The same feeling he remembered having while watching Steve weep when his mother had died. That sick feeling of watching someone you care about – someone you love – hurt so deeply and you couldn’t do anything to alleviate it. In fact, he was the direct cause of this hurt. The weight on his chest seemed that much heavier. He was at a loss, stuck between the proverbial rock and hard place.

Bucky finished his aborted steps forward , and moved to crouch down in front of Steve. He caught the sight of tears as they trailed down Steve’s face. His hands itched to grab a hold of one of Steve’s, but settled for a comforting grip on his shoulder. He felt the slight pressure as Steve leaned into the touch.

“Stevie, I’m not going anywhere, y’hear me?” Bucky kept his voice low, but stern. His thumb drew small, slow circles along Steve’s shoulder. “I’ll be right here where you left me. Not dying in some frozen river. Not a clandestine HYDRA base. Right here. Safe and sound. Maybe not all warm and cozy, but definitely safe and sound.” Bucky was pleased to see that he had managed to get a small smile out of Steve. “I need to do this. I need to make sure that whatever part of the Winter Soldier that’s left in my head can’t be used again.”

Bucky knew Steve was thinking the same ‘what if’s’ that ran through his head. What if they never found a way to remove the trigger? What if they did find a solution, but he didn’t survive being kept in cryostasis? Selfish worries. Steve would tell him he deserved to be selfish, but Bucky knew he had to do this. He didn’t have the right to be selfish.

Steve’s shoulders heaved with a deep steadying breath, and he stood up from the bed. Bucky remained still, observing him as he walked to stand in front of the window. Steve scrubbed the dampness from his face angrily with his hands. The sun had long disappeared beyond the horizon, but even by the moonlight, Bucky could see the slightly darkened hue of the man’s skin. He always loved seeing Steve blush. The brilliant red always started right below his cheekbone, slowly bleeding down his neck and across his chest.

Bucky finally moved from his crouched position to turn and look at Steve. He had loved Steve even before the serum. His pale skin complimented his rosy lips, which were usually chapped from his constant, anxious chewing. Straw yellow hair that would remain lank and dull throughout the winter, would come back to life during the heat and sunshine of the summer months. Steve’s body had been scrawny, nothing but sharp jutting angles. It always reminded him of a newborn horse. Always full of excitement and bravado, but lacking the coordination to do anything with it. The serum was the cherry on top. Okay, maybe a whole bushel of cherries, if he was being honest. Steve’s pale skin was now a shade or so darker, reflecting the thrum of vitality that flowed through him. Jutting angles were now smooth formidable lines. Bucky thought he had a hard time holding himself back before, but he hadn’t learned the true art of restraint until those few months after Steve rescued him and the other men from the HYDRA base. Bucky had always wanted to thank whoever gave Steve the opportunity to become who he was today, but sometimes he wished they could just back. Back to the way it was, before the war. Life was simple. Life made sense … Bucky had been a good man.

As he stood gazing at Steve, a familiar ache of a long forgotten memory prickled at his temples.

A much smaller Steve sat at a rickety old table. Their old apartment in Brooklyn. The sight of Steve in his familiar rumpled shirt, suspenders, and slacks made Bucky’s heart ache. Dark circles sat under Steve’s eyes, and he was looking paler than usual. This was the first day he had enough strength to get out of bed after having pneumonia. Steve was looking down at an unopened envelope, his face etched with despair. Bucky’s heart sank. His draft notice.

 He could hear echoes of past conversations filled with promises to not go without the other. The draft board cared nothing for promises. The first of many choices taken away from Bucky. The beginning of the loss of his own free will. Some part of Bucky had wanted to do something that night. Tell Steve before it was too late. It would have been perfect. If Bucky had revealed his feelings for Steve, and things ended badly, then he had a convenient reason to not be around Steve for a while. He knew Steve didn’t hate queers. There was surprising number of them throughout their own neighborhood. Not once had he seen Steve show any animosity to them. In fact, Steve had always made a point to seem welcoming to them. Just because Steve Rogers seemed okay with it didn’t mean the rest of the world around them was, and Bucky would never drag Steve down that rabbit hole with him. Steve deserved a normal existence without fearing for his life or freedom. So Bucky said nothing more than what any good pal would say to their best friend when leaving for war.

The dull throbbing returned. Another memory.

Bucky is strapped down to cold metal table. The moon shining in through the window is the only light available. Suddenly Steve is there, that beautiful beaming face hovering over him. Except that face was attached to much more formidable and very large body. It’s incredibly disorienting to have to look _up_ at Steve. Bucky has the urge to cry witnessing Steve fight off three guys at once as the two of them and the other captives make their escape. His little Stevie finally has the body to match his spirit. Bucky thinks this is it. This is when he should say something. He tries to build his courage up during the whole trek back to the base of operations. But then he sees how Steve and this woman Peggy interact with each other. He resigns himself to the good ole pal Bucky routine.

And now here they were. Steve had saved him once again. Did Bucky dare let this chance slide by him? How many more times would fate favor him? A thought ghosted through Bucky’s head.

Good men were not ones to give in to their every desire or want. Good men were unfailingly selfless. Bucky may have been a good man at one point in his life, but he was tired of suppressing himself. Bucky was tired of burying the scorching desire that raged inside of him.

He looked up to find Steve facing him, too lost in his own head to notice. Steve’s eyes were still a little red around the edges. Bucky clenched his fist, straightening his spine in resolve, and stepped towards Steve, steady and deliberate. Steve’s eyebrows twitched upwards, his mouth opened, probably to ask what Bucky was doing. The words were smothered by Bucky pressing his lips against Steve’s. A startled noise escaped Steve’s throat. Bucky kept his lips against Steve’s for a second or two more before he moved to pull away. He barely moved an inch away before Steve’s hands gripped both sides of Bucky’s head, and pulled him back in place. Their mouths moved against each other frantically, each of them fighting for dominance. Bucky flicked his tongue against Steve’s bottom lip, the prodding answered by Steve’s own tongue tracing along Bucky’s teeth. Bucky let out an embarrassing whimper, as Steve pulled away slightly. Catching his breath, Steve leaned his forehead against Bucky’s.

“What took you so long?” Steve’s voice came out low and gravely. The sound made Bucky’s knees wobble.

“Shut up, punk.” Bucky retorted fondly with a playful smirk. Grabbing Steve’s hip, Bucky took the two steps towards the window and slammed him against it. He was surprised the glass didn’t shatter, or at least crack. Their lips met again, yearning, fumbling. Bucky snaked his hand under the hem of Steve’s shirt, and dug his fingers into the heated flesh of Steve’s side. Silently cursing his lack of a left arm, he broke contact again just long enough to rip nearly the entire front half of Steve’s t-shirt off. Steve let out something that sounded pretty close to a growl, and yanked Bucky back toward him. He pressed himself against Steve, desperate with the need to be as close as he possibly could.

Bucky reached up to thread his fingers through Steve’s hair, and gripped a handful. The feel and taste of Steve’s lips were impossibly sweet, but the prospect of exploring Steve’s skin was too tantalizing. Bucky bent his head down and trailed quick and gentle nips across the delicate skin of Steve’s neck, all the way down over the planes of his collar bone to the rise of his shoulder, and then back up again. This close up, Bucky could smell the thick aroma of sweat, and the underlying residue of an evergreen forest, which he guessed must have been Steve’s soap.

“Fuckin’ hell. Buck.” Steve gritted out, letting his head fall back against the glass. His hands clutched tighter around Bucky’s hips. If he didn’t heal so fast, Bucky would have been worried about bruising.

“What a mouth on you, Rogers.” Bucky breathed out a chuckle causing goose bumps to spread across Steve’s skin.

“You have no idea.” Steve retorted, a coquettish smirk on his face despite the blush that seeped down his neck. Bucky paused in his attentions to gape at Steve in mock disbelief before narrowing his eyes.

“Did Steve Rogers just flirt with me?” Bucky grinned, and leaned in as if to inspect if this was in fact Steve Rogers standing in front of him. Steve rolled his eyes and pushed forward against Bucky, moving them towards the bed. They ripped the rest of each others’ clothes off along the way.

The two men explored every inch of each other with hands, lips, tongues and teeth, as they made up for all the lost years. Neither of them uttered a word, both simply wanting to revel in the sensations of each other.

They were sprawled out over the floor, having fallen off the bed at some point when one side support had collapsed. Steve lazily reached up to grab a pillow to place under his head, while Bucky used Steve’s stomach.

“Well we may have to be in hiding, but at least it’s not over this.” Steve said, gesturing to the two of them. Bucky hummed in agreement, a lopsided grin played across his features. Bucky lifted himself up to nuzzle his face against Steve’s neck.

“I love you, Stevie.” Bucky all but whispered against Steve’s neck. He pressed himself closer into Steve’s side, suddenly feeling very exposed. Nervousness bubbled up inside of Bucky. Steve shifted to his side facing Bucky, and gently ran his fingers through his shaggy dark hair.

“Love you too, Buck.” Steve kept his eyes on Bucky’s, piercing and meaningful. The sweetness of Steve’s voice dripped like molasses over Bucky’s skin.

They remained there curled around each other, both pretending that their world around them wasn’t in chaos. They weren’t two men out of time.  They weren’t criminals hiding out in some isolated jungle fortress. They were just Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes, in their cramped apartment in Brooklyn.

 

 


End file.
